Games of Deduction
by Spockologist
Summary: Children's games turned into crime solving methods. Mostly humor and no slash!
1. Dolls

**My muse has deserted me on my **_**Curtain Call **_**stories, and these random little snippets jumped into my head. They all promise to be very random, so we will just have to see where this goes.**

"Watson, I need your assistance with a project of mine. Would you be so kind as to join me in a few minutes?" Holmes asked politely, standing outside of my bedroom door.

"Sure, Holmes." I more or less waved him off as I was busily engrossed in a medical journal.

Ten minutes later, I pulled my mind from the pages and turned it towards a peculiar sound coming from the sitting room. Was that _girlish laughter?_

Rising from my bed, I followed the noise into the room. The picture made me stop short.

I have known Sherlock Holmes for many years. I have seen him do many remarkable and peculiar things. I have put up with his peculiar habits and endured his mood swings. I have never in all my days seen a sight that compared with this one.

"Ah, Watson." Holmes greeted me. "You've arrived. Now if you would just take a seat, over here on the floor, I will instruct you on what we are to do."

I eyed him carefully while slowly taking a seat; checking for obvious signs of brain damage or other injuries. "You called me out here for a _play date?"_

"Oh, hush." Holmes said, straightening in his cross-legged position on the floor. "This is not a game. This is a very serious method of observation that may help me solve an important case. As trivial as it may seem, this is really an extraordinarily modern technique of crime solving."

I eyed the dolls with suspicion. "It seems a bit childish and not to mention feminine if you ask me."

"Well, I'm not asking, so here, this is your doll." He thrust the miniature mannequin into my hands. "Her name is Mrs. Mapleton. We have reason to believe that she was aiding a Mr. Staples, that's him, over there tied to a chair, in several bank robberies. Now, my doll's name is Mr. Jensen, he was the teller at the most recent robbery, but was murdered last night. We are going to go step by step through the eyes of these dolls to see if we can solve the case."

I blinked. "You must be joking."

"I've never been more serious. Now are you ready? Very well, let's begin."

I watched as Holmes walked the doll down a remarkably accurate London street made up of boxes and various clutter he had found and into the bank. "There." He said. "We know that Mr. Jensen arrived at work at exactly eight A.M. His day proceeded as normal until lunch time when a woman, that's your doll, entered the bank and approached Jensen."

"And?"

"That's your job. Go ahead."

I gritted my teeth and moved the doll into the bank. "Hello, Mr. Jensen."

"Mrs. Mapleton has a woman's voice! Not some miserable man's attempt at acting! This has to be accurate! Try again."

"Holmes, this is outrageous! I refuse to be part of this!" I dropped the doll and stood up angrily.

"You're just angry you can't be the murder victim!" Holmes shot back. "The victim is key and you are spiteful because you can't have the spotlight!"

"Of all the absurd… you know what? Keep your dolls; I'm not playing with you anymore."

I stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

A few minutes later the sound of talking again floated up to my room.

"Why, yes, Mr. Jensen," Holmes high cast voice scratched dreadfully in my ears. "I would love to make a deposit." 

**Have any of you watched your siblings play dolls? One minute they can be happily playing and then 2 seconds later yelling at each other because they didn't get to be such and such.**

**At least that's how it is at my house.**


	2. Race

I was reminded of my army days as we all stood in a row in the centre of the park; hands at our sides, eyes looking straight ahead as we listened to the words of our commander.

There was only one problem:

This wasn't the army.

This was another one of Holmes's ideas on how to deduce criminal methods through the means of petty games.

"There will be no alliances," he was saying, marching up and down the row with all the strut of an army general. "No bribery or any of your scheming ideas. I am speaking mostly to Watson as he told me quite emphatically earlier that the last thing he wanted to be doing on this beautiful Saturday was to chase after a bunch of children."

Lestrade and the other inspectors sniggered and I scowled deeply at the dirt. The few Baker Street Irregulars that Holmes had grouped together for the event were openly offended. So much for bribery.

"Now, boys," Holmes turned to the dirty faced children. "I do not want to hear of foul play. Just because you are allowed to create obstacles, does not mean you are allowed to throw objects for intended harm. As you are acting as our escaped convicts, I know that in reality, a thrown projectile is common, but please be considerate of the Inspectors."

A few of the boys looked crestfallen; the rest of us looked relieved. There would be no jeering at the men of Scotland Yard today.

"The race will begin here at the park and end at Baker Street." Holmes announced. "You will be tested on stamina, wits and the ability to think clearly under pressure. The winning team, be it convicts or police men will be graciously rewarded with some of Mrs. Hudson's baked goods. Any questions? Very good. Then on your mark, get set,

"Go!"


	3. Dodge Ball

"Sorry, Ma'm,"

"Won't happen again,"

"We were just leaving…"

We all made our hasty apologies and fairly fled down the steps away from a scowling Mrs. Hudson. But we were not to escape without at least a taste of her wrath.

"Mr. Holmes!" she cried, making my companion wince and turn around slowly. "You are never to play any form of ball in my house again! Do you understand me?"

Holmes nodded meekly. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson."

"Good," she gave us all a stern look. "Now don't come back until I've swept up the mess you made. Really, a group of gentlemen such as yourselves acting like nothing more than boys…" she trailed off, closing the door firmly.

Holmes's subdued face turned into an impish smile as he turned to address us. "Shall we continue our little game of dodge ball elsewhere? I fancy our dart and weave maneuvers were coming along swimmingly." 


	4. Hide and Seek

**Thanks to all who have been reviewing! Ya'll know the drill, no stories on Sundays, so hopefully this one will hold you over until Monday! I think it' s adorable.**

The sound of footsteps came quickly closer and I tensed. Hardly daring to breathe as I closed my eyes and tried moving back farther into the already too small space. Discovery meant defeat and there was no way I would give in that easily. The noisy footsteps came to a halt and I froze. Holding my breath and praying that my cover would not be blown. There seemed to be pause, as if the hunter was enjoying my final few moments of fearful suspense.

Seconds ticked by, I had long given up trying to hold my breath and was now trying to pant quietly. My word, it was hot in here. Maybe I should call a truce, I was nearly suffocating. It wouldn't be good to suffer heatstroke in one's own closet…. Perhaps…

"Surprise, Doctor Watson!" The door was flung open and I was met with a blast of refreshingly cool air and several proudly beaming faces.

I gasped and stumbled out of the closet, collapsing on my bed, oblivious to the few snickers and worried faces that crowded around me.

"Are you alright, Doctor?" One of the grubby faced boys asked me. "Mr. 'Olmes said we had to play all quiet like."

"I'm fine," I said, gulping down precious swallows of air. "But it is much too hot inside that closet; I don't want any of you hiding in there, understood? I don't feel up to treating patients this afternoon."

This was met with several solemn nods and a few, "Yes, sirs"

"Very well, whose turn is it to count now?"

The group fidgeted. "We haven't found Mr. 'Olmes yet." One brave member spoke up.

This didn't come as much of a surprise. "Well, I will help you find him."

This was met with cheers all around and I was enthusiastically pulled to my feet to join in the hunt.

This was harder than I had anticipated and after several minutes of thorough searching, I was just as discouraged as the rest of the group.

"Alright, men." I circled up the group of ragtag boys and gave them all a stern face. "It appears our fugitive is still in hiding. What do you suggest we do about it?"

I got a few blank faces and a moan.

I sighed. "What would Mr. 'Olmes- Holmes do?"

"He would deduce it!" The youngest and in that case, most enthusiastic of the group cried.

"That's right! So, I want you all to think like Holmes and search all over looking for clues. Perhaps we'll find something."

They gave a poor hearted attempt at rising from their places on the floor.

"First person to find a clue gets to use Holmes's magnifying glass!"

Perhaps I should have checked with Holmes first for the sudden flurry of activity promised to have several hands waiting to hold the precious instrument.

"Doctor Watson! Doctor Watson!" I was eagerly beckoned to observe a scrap of paper on the carpet. Nothing more than a stray piece of trash to be thrown in the fire.

"Um, very good. Now what can you deduce from this-

I was interrupted by the sound of footsteps crashing down the stairs and Holmes, breathlessly appearing in the sitting room. "Olly, olly oxen free!" he shouted before collapsing into a chair. As the Irregulars celebrated, surprisingly cheerful in their losing the game, Holmes turned to me. "Let's not hide in closets anymore."

I grinned.


	5. Mother, May I?

"Oh, great detective, brilliant mastermind and studier of the deductive reasoning methods, may I please take seven steps forward?"

I rolled my eyes as Holmes grinned at the title he had insisted on for this game. He seemed to deliberate for a great deal longer than necessary before announcing to the little boy, that, no he could not take seven steps forward, but three.

The boy shrugged and took the allotted steps.

"It is your turn now, Watson." Holmes called to me across the field.

I sighed; this game was hardly helping the man's already large head. "May I please-

"What was that?"

"May I-

"I cannot hear a thing unless addressed by my official title!"

I glared at him and received a smug grin in return. Very well, two could play that game.

"Oh, great detective, brilliant mastermind and an incredible strain to my patience, may I please take ten steps forward to wipe that smug look from your face?"

The other player gasped and Holmes gave me a grim look. "I didn't want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. Watson, you may take ten steps forward."

I took a step forward, and then paused. That didn't seem quite right. But determined to win the game and have the roles reversed, I continued. So caught up in the thought of winning, did I fail to notice at the last moment when I reached out to touch Holmes's shoulder the pond behind him, and as Holmes jumped neatly out of the way, I tripped and fell headlong into the water.

Spluttering and muttering all sorts of curses did I glare up at the 'great detective' and his consorts laughing at me from the bank.

"Here, Watson, let me help you up." Holmes laughed, reaching for my hand and taking it grudgingly, I let him help me out of the shallow pond, only at the last second to pull him in after me.

This may not have been very kind, as by nature, Holmes has always been one of a clean and orderly appearance and the mud and water dripping from his hair and down his glaring face must have disgusted him a great deal more than he was letting on.

Laughing, and carefully dodging a half playful punch in my direction we scrambled from the pond and tried to ignore the look of disgust a few people in the park had shown us.

"That makes one for me." I declared. "And now it's my turn, now, if you would all address me by my title, Wonderful Doctor, charming man of wisdom and looks, caretaker of the somewhat infirm in mind and best friend of the world's only consulting detective, we can continue." 


	6. Cowboys and Indians

I gasped for breath, blood rushing in my ears and nearly crying out in pain as my leg wrenched in protest at the urgent gait we were forced to run.

"Holmes," I panted. "Is this really necessary?"

The detective paused and looked back at me, his face showing a mixture of amusement and concern. "I'm sorry, old chap. I didn't realize. We could take a rest here if you wish?"

But before I could answer, the sudden sound of enthusiastic voices with all the energy of a pack of hunting hounds crested the hill. Holmes visibly started and grasping my hand, hauled me to my feet as we continued our escape.

As we charged into a thicket of trees, Holmes contemplated his choice between gasps, "Perhaps, this wasn't the wisest of ideas….. Oh, watch your step there, True, this offers a wonderful opportunity to exercise the frame and mind, but I had no idea they would take it so seriously."

He was interrupted by a wild war cry and we both paused to look up to see the Baker Street Irregulars covered in the soot and grime of the fireplace smeared to look like war paint standing on the hill in front of us.

"How in the blazes," Holmes muttered, "They were right behind…"

Another whooping cry and we both turned to see the other half of the Irregulars coming in from behind.

"Holmes," I whispered, edging closer to my companion as the circle tightened. "I blame you."

"Oh, poppycock!" Holmes exclaimed only to drop his voice as one of the children actually bared his teeth with a low growl. "This was the idea of that American we entertained a few nights ago. He said there was nothing like a good game of Cowboys and Indians."

**I'm glad everyone is liking the stories so far! I'm not sure they played Cowboys and Indians in the 18oo's, but we can pretend right? **


	7. Colouring

"You know," Holmes chewed thoughtfully on the end of the crayon he was using. "If I wasn't so blastedly brilliant and didn't spend my time solving puzzles humanity finds so difficult, I believe I could have made a splendid artist."

I paused my sketching to glance at Holmes to see if he was in earnest. He gave me a prideful look and held up his drawing.

"See, Watson, the beautiful lines. The vivid colours. Do you see it? The way simple scratches with a crayon can form images and stories. It's quite stunning."

I raised an eyebrow as I admired his picture. "Yes, but I have a question, are those circles on top of the poles supposed to be heads, or are they lollipops? I'm having a hard time indentifying them."

He narrowed his eyes and pointed emphatically at the image. "By Jove, Watson! Is it really that difficult? They are people! Human beings! You're a medical doctor! You study the human body for a living; surely you could tell what they are supposed to be!"

"Ah, yes." I turned back to my drawing with an air of indifference. "Of course that's what they are. I see the one on the left is suffering from a severe case of brain swelling."

Holmes's let the paper go limp in his hand as he gaped at me. "Are you in earnest? The picture was a symbolic representation of my mind against the rest of humankind's! The size has nothing to do with your medical jargon."

"Then consider it to be a representation on pride and the consequences of what happens when one lacks humility. The man's neck is so thin it's likely to snap off with the weight of that gigantic head. A brilliant depiction really. Bravo."

I felt him glowering at me. "If you're so artistically inclined, what did you draw?"

"A flower."

"A flower?" he spluttered. "Here I spend over an hour etching a cathartic piece and you draw one of your romantic minded flowers?"

"It's a rose, if that helps any. The very symbol of romanticism."

"What on earth is wrong with you?" he shouted. "You must be mad; the whole world's gone mad for that matter. All joining in on that frivolous poppycock. There is no one left to appreciate realism. No one can see what I see! Why does no one appreciate my art? That's the problem here, you are all just a bunch of romantics who stare at that abstract nonsense and call it pure genius. Why, if I was in charge, the whole world-

"What's that?" I asked, interrupting his tirade and pointing to another piece of paper he had beside him.

"Oh this? It's my other drawing. I sketched the Johnston murder. Do you like it?"

"Is that supposed to be blood? It looks like a melted candle dripping off his face." 


	8. Go Fish

"I don't see how this is mentally stimulating in any way." Holmes complained. "I have better things to do than to sit here and shuffle cards."

I shrugged, "It's raining outside and your idea of testing rain puddles for toxins did not sound interesting. Besides, you know what cold weather does to my shoulder."

He sighed, giving me a long look before consenting. "I guess you are right. But can't we play something else?"

"No, I like this game."

"You do not. The only reason we are playing this is because you like tormenting me."

"That too."

He grumbled something that sounded very close to a curse. "Very well, I guess it is my turn then. Do you have any sevens?"

"Go fish,"

"I'll tell you where you can go fish!" He shouted. Throwing the cards and stomping angrily over to the mantle, he lit his pipe and puffed angrily.

"It's just a game, Holmes." I said carefully.

"It's a ridiculous waste of my time." He sniffed. "I refuse to play another round of this petty twaddle." He grabbed his coat and slammed the door, muttering something about rain and scientific endeavors over senseless nonsense.

I sighed and rose to follow. In his rush, Holmes had forgotten an umbrella.


	9. Cloud Watching

**Ack, sorry I haven't updated for a few days! My SH muse up and left me and I am having a hard time forming ideas. This one is a bit rough, but hopefully that is ok.**

"I'm not touching that. It's hardly sanitary."

I ignored Holmes and sighed, leaning back against the heather and letting the sun warm my face. "Come on, Holmes. It's just dirt. Good old terra firma. Give or take a few bugs."

He eyed the surface on which we walk on with some hesitance before slowly lowering himself to the ground. "It's not very comfortable either."

"It isn't meant to be. Tell me again how you managed to survived a few days in that hut during the Baskerville case? It truly must have been a miracle."

He scowled. "It was a necessary evil. Not like sitting here doing nothing when we could very well just finish our walk and go back to the cottage."

"We're on holiday. Just try to relax a bit, it's good for you."

"Evil never rests."

"Ah, so that's why you're such an insomniac."

"Why you-

"Look, Holmes!" I pointed up to the clear blue sky, a treat really with all the clouds that were so common in Britain. "What does that cloud look like to you?"

"Water particles suspended in air." He said dryly.

"I think it looks remarkably like a rabbit. And that one over there looks like a dog. Can you see it?"

Holmes muttered something before squinting up at the sky. "I see…. Clouds."

"Use your imagination! You do have one, don't you?"

"I resent that. Just because I am a highly intelligent person doesn't mean I lack creativity."

I snorted. "That's most certainly true. Remember that story you spun just to get us out having to pay for a cab?"

He grinned.

"I suppose I could observe the sky." He said hesitantly after a few minutes of companionable silence. "Though it has nothing to do with relaxation or anything of the sort." He hurried to add. "Consider it a scientific endeavor."

"Whatever you say, Holmes."

I watched amusedly as he stared up at the sky. Still looking he asked, "Are we looking for anything in particular?"

"No, just whatever shapes you can find."

He huffed before his eyes widened and he pointed excitedly up at a cloud. "Watson! That one looks like a giant Tyrannosaurs Rex attacking Scotland Yard!"

I strained to see it, but saw nothing of the sort.

"And that one! It looks like shark teeth! And do you see the hangman's noose?"

I squinted at him. "Holmes, have you been using the cocaine again?


	10. Mud Pies

**Sorry I haven't updated for awhile, life gets weird. **

**And I really don't know where the whole fairy thing comes from or how it ties into anything.**

"Archeology can't be anything more than glorified mud digging." Holmes announced.

I agreed. Three hours of slogging around in the slime and we were both grimy and bedraggled. The cloudy sky overhead had finally broken into a drizzly rain and the mood of our endeavor was dropping rapidly.

"When did you tell Mr. Hall to come and pick us up?" I asked.

Holmes wiped his pocket watch with a clean bit of fabric on the inside of his jacket. "We still have another hour and I for one do not want to spend it searching for that blasted box." He finished the statement with a final motion of sitting on the soggy ground and pulling out his pipe.

I scowled dismally up at the drizzling rain. "I could certainly use a bite of Mrs. Hudson's cooking right now. You don't suppose we could walk to that farm we passed on the way out here? They might have something."

"I'm sure you won't die from starvation." Holmes said in his languid and not at all comforting fashion. "If you feel yourself wasting away, I'm sure the woodland pixies would take you in."

I shot him a dirty look which he met with indifference. "What do the little fairies eat anyway?" he asked me. "You of all people would know."

"Obnoxious detectives with strawberry preserves. I've heard it's quite a delicacy."

He laughed. "Fairies are cannibalistic creatures?"

"Could you consider it cannibalism?" I asked seriously. "One can't say for sure if fairies are entirely human, so it may just be seen as another type of meat to them and not a malicious practice."

"Good point," Holmes patted me on the back as I took a seat beside him in the grass. "Though I think they would eat you first."

"What happened to being a friend of the fairies?"

He winked. "So what _do _the fairies eat? Beside detectives and know it all doctors?"

"Well…" I said slowly, not sure if Holmes was going to tease me or not. "I believe they eat dew drops. And flower blossoms."

Homes snorted. "A jolly good job that does. One would waste away to nothing within a week."

"And don't they make mud pies? For celebrations and things? Dirt is bound to have more nutrients in it than flower petals."

Holmes gave a peculiar bark of laughter. "Very well, if we are starving, we will replace one of Mrs. Hudson's baked goods for a mud pie. I'm sure she will appreciate the similarities in the substitute."


	11. Pranks

"Holmes," I whispered. My voice barely carried over the sound of snoring that filled the room. But I daren't make it louder. Any louder and our target would be alerted. "I don't think this is such a good idea."

"Nonsense," Holmes hissed back, holding up a feather he had taken from a decorative vase in the corner and grinning widely. "After all, what are brothers for other than to tease each other?"

I inclined my head in acknowledgement and dutifully raised the jar of shaving cream. I paused just inches away from the outstretched palm. "Are you sure he won't be too upset?"

"Oh please, brother Mycroft is nothing more than a bumbling grizzly bear." A loud snore was emitted from the prostrate form, proving his statement. "Though at times he has proven rather ill tempered, I doubt he is one for retaliation."

Looking warily at my companion, I poured a substantial amount of the cream into Mycroft's hand and then watched as Holmes ran the feather over his brother's nose.

When Mycroft Holmes awoke to the sound of laughter, he could not quite understand why his brother and doctor Watson were giggling like mad and looking for all the world like a pair of guilty school boys.


	12. Bubble Blowing

"Watson, hand me that pitcher over there will you?"

I willingly obliged and watched as Holmes poured the water into a peculiar mixture of laundry soap. At first I had considered it as one of his numerous experiments, but after he had thrown open drawers and scattered papers across the floor looking for something or another, I had taken interest.

"What are you playing at?"

"Playing? Playing my dear boy, this is nothing to play about. I am conducting an experiment. An invention that will change our world forever."

I made a motion to rise from my chair, "I'll run and tell the fire department. They should be the first ones to know."

Holmes gave my humorous remark a bland glare as he answered stiffly. "No, Watson. I do not believe we will be setting anything on fire to-day. My experiment is much simpler than that. Even the men at Scotland Yard will be able to comprehend."

I grinned and resumed my seat. "Continue,"

Holmes was languidly stirring what looked to be dish soap. "Do you have any wire lying around? I was thinking of unwinding the clothes hangers as a substitute."

"I'm afraid I've run out."

"Ah, very well. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson won't mind if we borrow a few of the hangers from her closet….."

After a few minutes of silent working, Holmes had unwound two of the hangers and looped one end to form a sort of noose.

"Splendid!" he cried. "This should work perfectly!"

"What is it for?"

In answer, Holmes dipped the looped end through the dish soap mixture and raising it to his lips, blew, creating a large bubble which floated gently through the air before popping as it came in contact with the fire poker.

Holmes clapped his hands like an enthusiastic child but I remained unimpressed.

"Bubbles. You made bubbles."

"Yes, yes I did." Holmes held out the other bubble blower. "Would you care to join me? It is quite fun."

"No, I think I'll pass."

Holmes's face fell and I swear he began to pout. "If that's how you feel…"

"No, no! Not at all." I stammered. "I just have….things to do."

The poker on which the first bubble had landed began to hiss and a strange vapor rose from its handle. We both turned to watch as the poker twisted in an odd shape and I realized with a jolt that it was melting.

"Holmes! What on earth did you do?"

Holmes grin was once again on his face as he announced. "I told you, I invented bubbles. Supersonic, sleuthing, melting, fantastic bubbles." He once again held out the bubble blower. "Care to try?"

**Sherlock Holmes. Bubble inventor extraordinaire. (What the heck is wrong with my brain?) Thanks to Hugo Purist for the bubble idea!**


	13. Truth or Dare?

It was a grave circle. A group of men so solemn that one would hardly dare to draw breath and shatter the air of suspense that hung over the small party gathered there. A silence that was soon shattered by one man who found courage enough to speak:

"What a bunch of nonsense! This game is nothing more than a little girl's party trick. You call yourself men! I refuse to be part of this. It's ludicrous, preposterous…. An insult to my character!"

I along with the rest of Scotland Yard eyed Holmes with a look of annoyance.

"Holmes, you agreed to play." I said sternly. "You can't back out of it now."

This rewarded me with a deep scowl as Holmes sunk lower in his chair.

"Aw, is the brilliant detective afraid of a little girl's game?" Lestrade jeered. "Come on, Holmes, truth or dare?"

"Perhaps my truths are much too shocking to be spoken amid an audience such as yourselves." Holmes spoke loftily, though his attempt at stalling did nothing to aid him.

"Then choose a dare."

Holmes's knuckles tightened to white as he gave a worried glance at Hopkins who had had such the misfortune as to choose a dare and was now glumly sitting in the corner with an ugly smear of rouge across his cheeks and a dark stain of lipstick on his once smiling face.

"I believe I'll pass."

Someone began to chant, beating their fists against the table to aid the rhythm. The cry was soon taken up by others in the circle and giving Holmes a shrug I too joined the chorus.

"Truth or dare! Truth or dare!"

"Alright!" Holmes shouted, slamming his glass against the table for emphasis. There was no going back now. The crowd was as silent as a graveyard, leaning forward in breathless anticipation to learn of the detective's fate.

"Truth,"


	14. Tea Party

**Happy Valentine's Day everyone! I had been thinking of a V day fic, but then realized a Valentine's Day murder didn't really fit the whole lovey, cupid stuff. So how about this little fluffy story instead? I think it's rather adorable. **

**Oh, and Elspeth is my own little character, should she reappear again? **

"Would you care for another cup of tea, Mr. Holmes?"

Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter, Elspeth asked politely. Elspeth had been spending a school holiday in the care of her grandmother, but Mrs. Hudson had had to do the week's shopping and had left the blonde, blue eyed little girl of seven in the care of her two bachelor tenants.

It hadn't taken more than ten minutes to deduce that while Elspeth was more or less in awe of the broody detective, the feelings of infatuation were not returned by the later. While Holmes regarded the books on the shelves with a cool gaze, Elspeth had stared adoringly.

"Mr. Holmes, would you care to join the doctor and I for a tea party?"

"A what?" Holmes nearly dropped the book he was holding and stared first at the little girl then at me. "Watson, you agreed to this?"

"Well," I said haltingly. "We were given the task to look after the little girl, and I found it only polite to agree."

Holmes scowled in my direction before composedly placing the book back on the shelf. "I'm afraid I haven't time for a tea party. My presence is required elsewhere at the moment."

Elspeth's large blue eyes begin to fill with tears. "Oh, but Mr. Holmes! I do wish you would join us! It would hardly be any fun at all without you. And Mr. Bumble was so looking forward to hearing of one of your cases."

"Mr. Who?"

"Her stuffed rabbit." I explained. "I've been told he is quite a fan of your work."

"Then read one of your stories." Holmes said carelessly. "Their romantic witticism is perfect for company."

"No, no!" Elspeth interjected before I could retort. "While Mr. Bumble and I adore Doctor Watson's stories, he would much prefer an account from you personally."

I thought I caught a faint look of pride before it was quickly extinguished and replaced with a glum look. "Very well," Holmes consented with a well placed sigh. "I suppose I could enlighten you with a bit of my work. Purely educational I assure you. Stuffed rabbits must be made well aware of the danger that lurks on London's streets."

Elspeth clapped her hands joyfully. "Oh yes! How very true! Now, if you would all join me over here, I have a lovely place set for us."

While Elspeth and I chatted away on the various topics that tend to surface at such occasions, Holmes sat somewhat impatiently and half listened as Elspeth and I discussed the poor health of her stuffed dog. I had just prescribed plenty of water and lots of rest for the creature before Holmes rather rudely slammed his tea cup against the table.

"Is this all you two can talk about?" He cried. "The dog is made of fabric! It would drown if she tried to give it water!"

Elspeth regarded the detective with a cool gaze that she has obviously learned from him. "I do believe, Mr. Holmes, that _Doctor _Watson holds a bit more knowledge on the subject of treating patients than you. If you would care to wait until we are finished discussing the topic, we would gladly hear one of your stories."

"Excuse me?" Holmes spluttered as I took a sip of tea to hide my grin. "I was not informed that I was to be the last resort of entertainment! I was told you and that stuffed rabbit had invited me to your party and that I was to be the guest speaker. Making me go last is hardly polite."

"Oh you are quite right." Elspeth agreed, in a quite grown up voice. "Where are my manners? Mr. Holmes, you may tell us a story now."

Holmes's smug grin faded at the word 'story' but he rose from the table and lighting his pipe, began:

"It first came to my attention, some months ago, in fact, Mr. Bumble couldn't have possibly been more than a baby at the time of this occurrence, of a case extraordinary, so beautiful in its web of secrets that I failed to come to a complete understanding of its intricacies until it was almost too late. You see, I was lying face down in the mud in one of London's backwater alleys that the answer finally came to me. But I am falling into Watson's habit of telling a story backwards. Let me start from the beginning…."

When Mrs. Hudson returned from her errand, she found the house's occupants spellbound as the detective, wild eyed and gesturing with excitement rehearsed one of his cases as only he could do.


	15. Fortune Telling

I quietly opened the door to 221b and peered up the dimly lit staircase before motioning to my companion who stood waiting nervously outside.

"She's upstairs."

"Are you sure we can't wait for Mr. Holmes?" Lestrade asked before clearing his throat as he realized just how weak that really sounded.

"No," I pushed. "Holmes said he would be along in a little less than an hour. This lady holds valuable interest to the case and Holmes needs our help in talking to her."

"But a gypsy!" Lestrade complained as we made our way up the stairs. "And a fortune teller no less. She and all her 'help' is bound to be complete bunk if you ask me."

"Is that an unbeliever I hear?" the wavering voice of the gypsy rasped as we entered. "I won't have any doubters here! It blocks the spirits!"

"No, Ma'm." The inspector ducked his head apologetically as we took our seats across the table.

"Very well," The gypsy sniffed, her silver hooped earrings dangling wildly. The woman's appearance was truly remarkable. The vivid reds and purple of her clothing were muted by a dark blue velvet cloak patterned with stars. Reaching across the table, she grasped the startled Inspector's hand and cried, "Oh! Oh, dear me. The spirits are speaking. They wish to say something to you!"

"Let go!" Lestrade struggled. "I don't believe in your penny tricks!"

But the woman's dagger like red nails clung fast. "They tell me you are a man of great wisdom. You have solved some of life's puzzles and have done great good to mankind."

Lestrade ceased his struggling and now sat, slack jawed staring at the woman. "Well? Go on! What else do they have to say?"

The woman rubbed one side of her forehead with one hand and held the Inspector's hand in the other. "But there is another! He is a great man, full of intelligence and skill. You are jealous of his abilities. Cease to do so."

Lestrade frowned and I stared absently at the ceiling. I had seen more than enough of fortune telling during my war service.

"But," the gypsy continued. "I am told that you have great fortune in your future. Wealth and luxuries are within your grasp!" She was gasping now. Her raspy voice cracking as she struggled to give one last warning. "But… these things will not happen… if you… if you…

"Spit it out!" Lestrade shouted. "If I what?"

"If you do not hand me my pipe." Holmes's voice came from the gypsy's garb. "It's over on the mantelpiece."

Lestrade's face went from a deathly white to a lovely shade of red as Holmes and I were bent over double with laughter.

"That isn't funny, Holmes!" he shouted, getting up from the table. "You and all your nonsense! And Doctor Watson! I would not expect such things from you." He slammed the door on his way out, but not in time to block out Holmes's rasped cry:

"Remember the warning!" 


	16. Red Rover

**Thanks to Grey Pascalle for the prompt! This one got pretty wild on me and I don't feel like it's in character at all. Hopefully that's ok. **

"Line? I don't see a line."

Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to point out the obvious.

Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair and attempted to explain the rules for the umpteenth time. "There isn't a line, Holmes. You're to pretend there is one. We are divided into teams and we are across from each other with the imaginary line between us."

"You shouldn't mess with your hair so. It makes you look like that time you didn't sleep for two days and then walked across the carpet in slippers."

I scowled and tried to flatten down the hair he found so offensive. "We aren't here to discuss that. Now, once we are divided into teams, we all link hands-

"I'm not holding your hand!"

"I never said you had to hold my hand! You just have to hold the hand of the person next to you."

Both Holmes and Lestrade took one look at each other before taking a step apart.

"I'm not holdin' some detective's hand." Lestrade grumbled. "He can play by himself for all I care."

"And I for one," Holmes said arrogantly, "Do not want to touch anything an Inspector of Scotland Yard has had contact with. Their idiot tendencies may rub off on me."

This began a bickering match and after a few minutes of backbiting and name calling, I raised my voice.

"No, no, no!" I had long since given up hope of keeping my hair to lie flat and I can only imagine my appearance as I shouted for control. "Can we all just grow up and treat each other like civilized human beings?"

"We're playing a children's game." Holmes pointed out. "It seems a bit contradictory to tell us act mature."

The glare he received for his comment was neither kind nor civilized.

This time, Lestrade stepped in. "Let's hear the doctor out. Watson," he nodded in my direction. "If you would continue please."

"Thank you, Inspector." I was grateful that at least one person in the group could act mature. "The point of the game is to break the opposing team's chain. If succeeded, then the person who broke the chain is home free, if he fails, he has to join that team."

"How do we break the chain?" Lestrade encouraged.

"You run at them. Like a tackle."

"No fair!" Holmes pouted. "Watson played rugby! He'll kill us all!"

"I'll go easy on you." I said smugly, receiving a few nervous chuckles from the rest of the group.

"I vote we just have it out here and now." Holmes said bravely. "Who needs an imaginary line to defeat the enemy?"

"Enemy?" I asked warily. The sudden leer on everyone's face was hardly comforting. "What enemy?"

"Get him, boys!"

…**Though I am rather enamored with the idea of a Watson with disheveled hair. XD **


	17. Marco Polo

I cringed as the sound of squelching mud came from underneath my boots. Taking one step forward, I audibly gasped as the frigid water slapped against my trouser leg.

"Holmes," I growled. "This better be worth it."

Holmes, already a few yards ahead of me and shivering as the water of the moat lapped against him, grinned. His undaunted cheerfulness was hardly befitting to my mood, but given the fact that we were near the conclusion of a very thrilling case, I found it best not grumble.

Trying hard not to think about all the muck and disgusting things that must surely be in the polluted liquid, I waded out to my companion.

"What now?" I asked, rubbing my arms to keep from freezing.

Holmes raised a finger to his lips and motioned that we were to go around the north side of the manor. Taking care to hold the dark lantern, Holmes led the way, looking for all the world like some gangly swan. If it had been in any other situation, I would have laughed at his appearance, but I held my tongue.

We had been traversing this unorthodox method of travel for some time and the fog that is so common to the moor began to swirl around us and blend all landmarks into a muddled shade of gray.

I heard the sound of something grating on rock and then a splash. The lantern a few feet in front of me swung wildly before being dropped into the tepid water with a dismal hiss. Everything was plunged into darkness and the only sound came from the water hitting softly against the bank.

Swallowing and thinking foolishly of sea monster and alligators that guarded these waters in medieval times, I cautiously inched forward till my hand came in contact with the cool stone wall. Holmes had disappeared and I could not see a thing. Clearing my throat that had suddenly gone quite dry, I whispered hoarsely,

"Marco?"


	18. Sledding

"It's rather imposing, don't you think?" Holmes asked me, pointing down the hill. "The sheer, smooth lines of pure snow all untouched by mankind and just begging to be transformed into a mess of slush and perilous ice that we will soon match wits against in a battle for survival."

I started to speak but Holmes cut me off.

"Yes, Watson, I know. It is rather daunting, this great slope we stand above. But do not voice your fears. We will bear it in silence! Real men do not show weakness in such a trifling obstacle as this."

Holmes ended his monologue and turned to me, grave faced. "Are you ready, old chap?"

I tried my best to match his serious demeanor. "Yes, I do believe I am."

We turned towards the hill below.

"It was nice knowing you."

"The same."

"If you die, I want you to know, that I will be taking your chess set."

"You can't have that! It was given to me by the Duke of Normandy!"

"It's all the same when you're at the bottom of the hill with a broken neck."

This gave him a pause. "Your logic is sound. Very well, if I die, you may have the chess set. I will be taking your bedroom slippers."

"My slippers? Why on earth would you want those?"

"Well, I am rather envious of them and I can't really think of anything of yours that I would want you to bequeath me. The slippers were the first object to come to mind."

I gave Holmes a stare which he broke with a quite cough. "Enough chitchat. I call front."

We both took our places and with a bit of momentum, went flying down the hill.


	19. Knitting

"What on earth are you doing?"

I couldn't help but sound shocked as I observed the copious amounts of yarn all unwound and flung around the room. The thread came in a variety of colors, including a very lovely shade of sky blue that had somehow managed to be looped over the lamp fixed to the wall by the fireplace and was dangling precariously in front of the open flame. One light breeze and the string would catch fire; spreading the flame like a bomb fuse.

"Have you suddenly acquired a cat?" It seemed a logical conclusion, though Holmes was not particularly fond of felines, it was quite possible that he could have started keeping one.

"No, Watson." Holmes spoke blandly from his chair. "I am allergic to cats. Good hypothesis though, I will give you that. Though I do find the image of cats and yarn a bit cliché."

"Then what, may I ask, are you doing with all this yarn?"

"What else do you do with yarn? I am learning to knit."

I had begun to drink a glass of water but commenced choking at his announcement. It took me some time to compose myself and Holmes's face remained unmoved as he watched my predicament.

"Really, Watson." He said with all the air of an injured man. "I do think you could learn to appreciate the craft."

"But you!"I cried. "Knitting? The apocalypse must be closer than I had originally thought."

"Oh, your humor kills me. But to be concise, I am not learning this merely for my own pleasure. It has to do with a case I am working on."

"Did the price of yarn go up? It must be dreadful to have to pay more at market day."

I admit, I found myself extraordinarily witty and couldn't contain my laughter, but at Holmes's sharp glare, I quickly swallowed my amusement.

"No," he said rather stiffly. "And if you are wondering, all this yarn cost me less than a pound. But the case, Watson, the case!"

"Very well, what is it about?"

Holmes's smile returned as he sank into his chair to tell me of the latest crime. "It is a murder. A delightful, cunning murder. A Mr. Robinson was found at his home last evening, stabbed through with knitting needles. The wife clams innocence, but the needles belong to here and were, still in fact, attached to her work, one of those frivolous doilies you see women knitting constantly. I acquired some supplies and with the help of a very patient Mrs. Hudson, have been working on solving this case."

Finding out the true meaning of Holmes's new hobby, I chose to avoid further teasing. But I couldn't resist asking one question. "Pray, tell me why those needles are stuck to the wall instead of piercing yarn?"

Holmes grinned mischievously. "It was a bit of an experiment, if you will. I was trying to see how hard you must throw the needles for them to pierce an object."

I quickly tried to blink away the image of Holmes casting knitting needles javelin style against the wall. I imagine he would have only been too enthusiastic about the whole thing.

"And the verdict?"

"The wife is innocent. That much is certain. No housewife could have the strength to drive the needles through to kill a man." In proof, Holmes pointed to several bent needles left carelessly on the floor. "I had a hard enough time myself pushing through the plaster. What we are looking for is a man. A very strong man. Only one such as he could have used the needles with such force."

I was contemplating the facts of this statement when the sound of Mrs. Hudson climbing the stairs reached us.

"Mr. Holmes?" she called, Holmes's face had suddenly gone very white. "I seem to have misplaced my knitting needles. I know you said you wanted to borrow them, may I have them back?" 


	20. I Spy

**I forgot to shout a hello to Tapdog! You were the 100****th**** review! I haven't written much with Mycroft. I hope it's in character. **

While Holmes spoke of his brother with a light air of affectionate disdain, the two were really quite close. True, when seen together, one could hardly imagine the two shared the same blood. One would be chatting away over politics, a glass of sherry in his hand as he lounged back in the armchair. The other stood in the corner, keen eyes missing nothing, the very image of alert attentiveness.

But brothers they were and there could be no denying the fact. When put together, their differences came together to form a power that would quail anything less than their most worthy opponent. And even then, it was foolish man who faced the pair with the idea of escape. It was always an interesting experience to watch the Holmes brothers put their heads together. The results were often uncanny and truth be told, it left one with a speculation on the powers of the mind.

Mycroft Holmes, sharing the same great powers of deduction as his brother, had a soft spot for his brother which was seldom seen. But, in the younger days, and even the occasional visit or two as the years progressed, one could see the full splendor of their relationship.

Holmes and I were visiting Mycroft as a sort of last resort. Holmes had exhausted all his resources of information and had wanted to visit the older Mr. Holmes for a different perspective.

We were sitting in Mycroft's great office, every wall filled to the brim with books. The subjects of which I could only begin to guess. The two seats underneath the window were occupied as both Holmes and Mycroft absently stared out the window in quiet meditation. I had begin to grow used to the peaceful air and shamefully found myself drifting off to sleep, when Holmes's soothing voice brought me to attention.

"I spy, a soldier. He has recently returned from India and served in the infantry."

Mycroft straightened and peered out the window with a grunt. "It's that man standing next to the woman selling flowers. But you're wrong, Sherlock, he didn't serve in the infantry, he is still wearing his military boots and the soles aren't worn enough for constant foot work."

The pair lapsed into silence again, leaving me gaping in the background. Sometime later, Mycroft roused himself and said in a matter of fact manner, "I spy a widower. He has four children, and due to the hospital bills of his late wife, has had to let his house staff go to make ends meet."

This was too much. Curious, I rose from my chair and peered over the brother's shoulders to see if I could find the answer to their game.

"It's the man in the bowler on the corner. You can see he has removed his wedding band, but now wears it on a chain around his neck. The three packages he is holding are wrapped in paper from the children's book store and he is now crossing towards a dress shop to buy a dress for his eldest, a daughter. You can see he has recently let his staff go as his clothes are rumpled and have not been ironed for several days."

I uttered an exclamation of amazement and I saw Mycroft give Holmes a smile before they both turned in my direction.

"Your turn, Watson." Holmes grinned.


	21. Story Time

**Yay for Elspeth and cute fluff!**

"Elspeth! Elspeth, you must settle down!" I gave up in frustration and scowled at the little girl giggling at me from her makeshift bed on the settee. "You must go to sleep. Your grandmother will be home soon and I don't want her thinking we were the ones to keep you up past your bedtime."

"I don't want to go to sleep!" She protested. "Mr. Holmes said the monsters he keeps in the coat closet will get me if I close my eyes."

I shot Holmes a dirty look and he quickly ducked his head, pretending to be deeply engrossed in the book he was reading.

"That's not true." I said, sitting on the edge of the couch. "The only monsters Mr. Holmes has are the ones in his head."

Elspeth regarded Holmes with a look of awe. "He keeps monsters in his _head? _Is that why it's so large?"

I stifled a laugh as the face hidden behind the book arched an eyebrow higher than the pages would conceal.

"No, I'm not actually sure why it's that size." Here I paused as if looking around carefully before whispering conspiratorially, "Some say it's because he was dropped as an infant. His head became so swollen, it never went away."

Elspeth's mouth formed a perfect 'O', nearly as large as her eyes. Here at last was someone who could truly appreciate my stories. But there would be time for that later, Mrs. Hudson was due back any time now and she would not be pleased to find her granddaughter up at so late an hour.

"Elspeth," I tried to appear stern. "It's your bedtime. You must go to sleep."

"No!" She shouted, throwing the covers over her head and pouting. "I won't!"

I cast a desperate glance at Holmes who had lit his pipe and was regarding the situation with a look of indifference. "Holmes, would you play your violin? Perhaps that will settle her down."

"I believe she referred to my head as 'large' and earlier she dumped my experiment out the window with the excuse that it smelled terrible. I do not find myself willing to entertain such an audience as that."

I rolled my eyes. It was difficult enough to appease one child, let alone a grown man who still behaved like a five year old.

"Very well then, Elspeth, would you like me to read you a story?"

Blue eyes regarded me carefully. "What kind of story?"

"Uh…." I cast my eyes about the room. We had a substantial amount of books, but none were befitting a bedtime story, especially for a little girl.

"Read her my dissertation on execution methods." Holmes mumbled from his corner of the room.

"What's execution?" Elspeth piped up.

"No, no, we don't want to read that." I amended hastily. "Boring stuff really. Let's read something about…..

"Princesses!" Elspeth shouted. "Princesses with really pretty dresses and lots of jewels and then at the end, there will be prince that comes and rescues her and they ride away on a unicorn."

I heard a choking sound from the corner as Holmes inhaled on his pipe a little too quickly.

"That seems like a… wonderful story. But I'm afraid I don't have one about princesses, but I do think I have one that involves a very beautiful lady." I rose and walked over to the shelf, lovingly pulling down a very torn and tattered notebook.

Elspeth watched with a look of reverenced awe and even Holmes put down his book long enough to hear me begin the story that was the first of a much grander adventure:

"To Sherlock Holmes, she is always _the _woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name…"


	22. Ice Skating

**Ok, for some reason, whenever I write little love stories, I blush really, really red. I'm not sure I want to go look in the mirror..**

I have spoken very little of my life with Mary. For months after her death, I refused to acknowledge grief and all the hardships that come with it. But slowly, after the gaping wounds began to heal, the finer memories of her life began to soothe my soul.

Hobbling along the marketplace one bitterly cold January, a memory came to me with such force; I could hardly blame the fierce wind for the tears that gathered in my eyes. We had been together for some time, but I had not yet gathered the courage to ask the most important question a man ever gets to pose. I was still living with Holmes at Baker Street and he had treated my interest in Mary as nothing more than the behavior of a love sick fool.

"Holmes," I had said, looking in the mirror to fasten my collar. "Mary and I are going ice skating this afternoon, would you care to join us?"

"Why on earth would I want to risk pneumonia or worse to go fool around on a thin sheet of ice with blades strapped to my feet?"

"I don't know," I said rather spitefully. "Perhaps it could be fun? You never seem to do anything but sit in that chair and smoke. I can hardly rid my clothes of the smell of tobacco and Mary doesn't like coming over here anymore as she says the smell gives her a headache.

I thought I caught the signs of a suppressed smile before Holmes eyed me coldly. "Well, who is to stop her if she does not appreciate fine company?"

"Fine company! You? I would hardly call you and all your nasty habits fine company. I've seen the empty bottle in the desk drawer."

This last comment may have been out of turn, but given the smoldering glare and turned back, I felt no need to apologize and grabbing my coat, slammed the door; intent on forgetting Holmes in Mary's bright laughter.

We had a grand time. The sun was out which was a blessing for its light and a curse for its heat. We had been skating and talking the whole time and were just preparing to leave when Mary's skate caught on a rough piece of ice and she fell, (much to my dismay and delight) into my arms.

"Are you hurt?" I asked nervously. My heart seemed to be doing a quick march.

"No, I'm fine." She reassured me, straightening only to wince and hobble forward onto the bank.

"Now, Miss Morstan, I don't know what they teach you at those private schools, but in the army, we are all taught how to detect lying and you my dear have been caught red handed."

She grinned at my making light of the subject. "It's probably nothing. I believe I might have turned my ankle; it's hardly anything to worry about. I'll just go home and put it up for awhile."

"But my house is closer!" I protested. "You're not fit to walk all the way home."

I could see by the pain in her eyes that she agreed with me. "But how are we to get there?" she asked. "I can't walk."

For a moment, I pictured myself heroically carrying her all the way from the pond and up the stairs of the flat. Mrs. Hudson would open the door and make way with a look of surprise as I calmly and collectively nursed the beautiful creature in my arms back to health. But that image was quickly put to rest. I couldn't carry her that far and Mrs. Hudson was not at home. The only one to open the door would be the grouchy detective and I hardly considered that an inviting welcome.

"We'll get a cab." I spoke decisively and before she could protest, I hailed one, helped her inside and rode back to Baker Street all in the blink of an eye.

In my anger I had forgotten my house key so we had to wait for Holmes to open the door anyway. He first eyed Miss Morstan with a look of wounded reproach and then me with a cold gaze of 'I told you so.'

Paying no heed to Holmes and his moods, I gallantly pushed open the door, invited Mary to take a seat on the settee and proceeded to gather my various instruments.

I heard absolute silence from the other room. I prayed Holmes wasn't pulling out the needle. I doubled my speed and rushed back into the room. Holmes, thank goodness, was sitting sullenly in his chair with his legs draped over the armrest. Mary had paled significantly, either from pain or the repulsive smell of the living quarters of a consulting detective, I couldn't tell.

Mary smiled gratefully as I eased the skate off her swollen foot and proceeded to bandage the limb. Thankfully, it wasn't too badly bruised. I hated to be grateful for Mary's injuries, but I couldn't help the flash of pride that ran through me as I considered that smile that was just for me.

"Tell me," Holmes drawled. "Did Watson inform you that I was the one to teach him how to ice skate?"

"Oh really?" Mary asked eagerly. "John, you didn't tell me you didn't know how to skate."

"It must have slipped my mind." I muttered.

"I find it endearing."

"Well, in that case…"

Oh how I loved her laugh! It was the most beautiful sound in the world and possessed the ability to lighten even the most dismal of places.

As I rose from my kneeling position, I saw Holmes glower from his chair. It was a pity really, that he couldn't be pleasant in such a situation in this. "We won't bother you any longer." I said, helping Mary to her feet. "I will see Miss Morstan safely home and most likely won't be back until late."

I got a waved hand of impatience in return but was too worried about being polite in front of Mary to argue. After making sure she was safe at home, I returned once more to Baker Street and climbed wearily up the stairs. The sound of violin music came to my ears and I opened the door to find Holmes still in his chair.

"So," I said carefully as I sank into my chair. "You taught me to ice skate?"

He paused playing long enough to flash a small grin.

"You didn't expect her to find it appealing, did you?"

The grin faded. "Yes, well, women are unpredictable that way. Perhaps you could invite her over again? I want to inform her of some of your more disturbing habits. Like how you have the tendency to….. What? Why are you laughing? Watson! Watson, I'm serious! I will!"


	23. Snipe Hunting

**I went snipe hunting once. **

**It didn't end well. **

I was reminded of my army days as we all sat around the fire swapping stories and laughing about old times. Everyone that is, except Holmes. Holmes was not as fond as camping as I was; the reason being, he had told me cryptically was because of one family camping trip he had spent as a youth with his brother Mycroft and a lake. I had decided not to ask questions.

Lestrade had grudgingly consented to come with us along with Hopkins and Bradstreet. Our plan was to spend the night out in the hills before continuing our hike to a small town where Holmes was persistent his next clue lay.

While Holmes was over eager in his impatience for daylight, he was also irritated by the fact that we could joke and have a good time while on the trail of a criminal. He had sullenly regarded us all evening and openly glared when the laughter got a bit too rowdy for his liking.

"I hardly consider this a situation for merriment." He had said seriously. "We are on the trail of an elusive criminal and yet you all laugh as if this were some trip for a bunch of spring holiday college students."

"Oh come on, Holmes!" Lestrade grinned. "Surely you can have a bit of fun? It's not like the criminal is out there watching us right now."

We all grew silent at the idea of the murderer watching us from the shadows of the trees.

"Well," Bradstreet cleared his throat. "Do any of you know any good stories?"

"I do." I spoke up, glad for the conversation change. "Have any of you heard of a snipe?"

"Don't bore us with those child stories!" Lestrade yawned.

"No, no! They're real!" I protested. "I saw one while in Afghanistan. They're hard to catch too. Only a few brave souls attempt to catch them and sometimes….. they never come back."

"Really?" Hopkins breathed. "What happened?"

"Well, it so happens that I was on this expedition." I admitted. "It was a dreadful adventure. I never thought I would make it out alive."

Holmes tossed a log on the fire, sending sparks into the air and muttered something about going to bed.

"I was with a fellow soldier, Officer Hadley, we shared a tent. We had been listening to some senior officers swap stories they had heard over the years. The most famous was that of the snipe. Snipes are elusive creatures. Some say they are like snakes, and slither on the ground. Other say they swing from tree to tree like apes. Others say they dart from behind bushes and hide behind logs. Whatever these things look like, they were to be feared. No one ever dared go after a snipe."

I had my audience captivated now. All were leaning forward, oblivious to the world around them.

"Hadley was foolish enough to want to go after one. While he was barely younger than I, he lacked the common sense and wisdom most men need to become soldiers. Rounding up a few of the same mind, he told me one night that he was going after the creature to prove his bravery. As much as I protested, he was undeterred, and I finally consented to go along as a sort of chaperone on this wild expedition.

"We gathered everything we thought we would need, guns, nets and lanterns, for snipes can only be found at night, and set out. For awhile, things went well, only the comforting sounds of night were to be heard, but as it got later and later, mysterious creaking sounds and twigs snapping in the distance could be heard. One man swore he saw something in the trees."

As if on cue, the logs in the fire snapped and Bradstreet jumped before brushing it off and trying to act unconcerned.

"Hadley told us to get ready, we were close. Weapons at the ready, we slipped quietly into the foliage. I'm afraid I don't know what happened after that. Someone shouted we were to swarm the thing, a gun went off, someone else screamed. The lantern was lost in all the confusion and I hit my head on a low hanging tree branch in the darkness.

After waking up in the middle of the wilderness, I rounded up a few of the shaken soldiers that had gotten lost along with me. Most had fled back to camp and we assumed Hadley was among them. We were reprimanded for leaving camp and after explaining to bring Officer Hadley for punishment, went looking for him. We searched everywhere; going farther than our original path had been the night before. But Officer Hadley was gone. Taken by the snipe."

Everything was deathly quiet except for the crackling of the fire. Lestrade shook himself to clear his head and rose from his place. "Nice story, doctor. I see what Mr. Holmes means about your romantic dribble."

That got a few more mutters about a good piece of fiction as the others announced they were going to bed. I nodded unconcerned with their lack of interest in my tale and carelessly gave the dying coals a stir.

A figure suddenly leapt from the darkness, yelling like a banshee, arms flailing and face horribly disfigured.

Lestrade screamed, Hopkins and Bradstreet gave cries of surprise before reaching for their guns. I laughed and rose from my place to put an arm around the apparition.

"Well done, Holmes. Top rate performance."

The goblin grinned, revealing the face of the great detective through the paint. "Thank you, Watson. And if I may congratulate you on that story of yours. Very convincing."

We shared a smile and shook hands at our success before an embarrassed cough came from Lestrade.

"I wasn't screaming for fear, you know." He explained. "I thought a loud noise might scare it, Mr. Holmes, away."

"Ah yes." Perfectly understandable." Holmes agreed with a wink. "Now, why don't we all settle down with a few more stories? Do any of you believe in ghosts?" 


	24. Dog Walking

"I took that flea bitten creature of yours for a walk today." Holmes said matter of factly as he tightened the bow on his violin. "It was a most disagreeable experience."

I looked at Gladstone snoring on the floor before regarding the detective. "Oh?"

"Yes," He finished tightening the bow and was settling the instrument under his chin. "I was searching for a certain type of mushroom out in the park and thought the dog would like to go out for a stroll."

"How….nice of you."

"Well, I do find myself a rather chivalrous fellow to both man and beast, but your canine obviously has no concept of good manners whatsoever."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Just what did he do?"

"He went gallivanting through the whole blasted park pulling me on the end of his lead is what he did!" Holmes yelled before regaining his composure and speaking with an eerie calm. "I was unaware that that creature's short little legs could go so fast. It's hardly natural."

"He probably just caught scent of something that excited him. I hope he didn't hurt you."

"Oh no, not at all. In fact, I wouldn't say being dragged through the mud, pulled through puddles and then failing to leap a hedge has caused any harm to my person at all. I am the picture of health."

I could only imagine the terror this man and dog must have caused to all the innocent bystanders. It would be a miracle if Holmes's reputation outlived this escapade.

"I hope he didn't hurt you too badly." I said truthfully. "Gladstone can be a little difficult to handle."

"I accept your apology on behalf of that mangy mutt of yours." Holmes said dryly. "But if you don't mind, I have a little treat for Gladstone." He placed the bow on the string. "Gladstone, Gladstone you diabolical little boy, I have something for you! Yes I do! It's called the continuous note of E! Oh, I know! It's so high pitched! Watson! Watson! Get your dog away from me!" 

**Please note: I do not believe in animal cruelty. Holmes obviously just has issues. ;) **

**And I think E is the highest note on a violin. I'm not sure. Google would not cooperate. **


	25. Karaoke

**Lots of notes today so let's get started!**

**The reason why I did not update on Saturday was because I watched Sherlock Holmes in the 22****nd**** century and ended up being too weirded out to even think about picking up a pen.**

**Have any of you checked out Aleine Skyfire's blog? She has a link to something every Sherlock Holmes fan needs to read.**

**I'm in the mood for a great big angst fic so start looking for it soon. I think I am going to end this series on this chapter, but don't be surprised if I update it randomly. **

"Is this considered legal?" I whispered as I helped boost Holmes up the ledge. He grunted a noncommittal response before reaching down and pulling me up beside him.

We were given a view into one of the rooms of Scotland Yard. The light was streaming through the panes giving us a clear image of what was going on inside. Inspector Lestrade and his men were off duty and having never seen what happens to police inspectors after the pressures of work were released, I was in for quite a shock.

"Are they…_singing?" _ I hissed. They sounded worse than Holmes and I had after that one spiked bottle of sherry that had mysteriously appeared on our doorstep one evening.

"Sh!" Holmes hushed me, leaning forward to catch their voices. "Listen!"

A warbling sound echoed over the cobblestones. One I recognized to be Bradstreet's.

"I've paid my dues, time after time.

"I've done my sentence, but committed no crime.

"And bad mistakes, I've made a few " (here Holmes snorted loudly,)

"I've had my share of sand kicked in my face- but I've come through!"

They were all linked together in a very wobbly chain, and broke out in song at the exact same moment.

"We are the champions, my friends!

"And we'll keep on fighting to the end!

"We are the champions! We are the champions!

"No time for losers, 'cause we are the champions of the world!"

Lestrade stepped forward for his solo, head thrown back in full throated voice.

"I've taken my bows and my curtain calls,

"You brought me fame and fortune and everything that goes- I thank you all."

He bowed in a most dignified manner before backing down to let Hopkins take the light.

"But it's been no bed of roses

"No pleasure cruise-

"I consider it a challenge before the whole human race-

"And I ain't gonna lose!"

Again, the whole crowd joined in:

"We are the champions, my friends!

"And we'll keep on fighting to the end!

"We are the champions! We are the champions!

"No time for losers, 'cause we are the champions of the world!"

And thus begun the pattern of why Holmes and I randomly started humming that tune around Lestrade while on a case.

**Song belongs to Queen, **_**We are the champions. **_**And you just know that it is going to be in your head for the rest of the day. *grin* **

**Thanks to all reviewers and readers alike! Anyone want to come play karaoke? ;)**


	26. Balloons

**I know I said I was done with this series, but for some reason, this just would not leave me alone. If any of you want a better idea of the story, may I recommend youtube: Sherlock Holmes chipmunked.**

I shivered and closed the door to 221b. Climbing the stairs with a new thought with every step I took.

_Mrs. Hudson's cooking._

That stepped creaked, I'd never noticed that.

_The warm fire._

Whoever liked the snow must be out of their mind.

_Maybe a book to read…._

There was that little paperback novel I'd picked up the other day.

_Absolutely nothing to think about….._

Sleep was probably the number one priority on my mind and with the idea of taking a rest fully focused in my brain, I opened the door.

_Please not this._

Sherlock Holmes, great detective, upside down in an arm chair with inflated, colorful balloons scattered to the farthest corners of the room.

"Evening, Holmes." I said warily. "How are you?"

"Right as rain, fine as a feather."

_What on earth was wrong with his voice? He sounded like an angry squirrel._

"I see…. Are you um, high?" I tried to look for the needle and case amidst all the inflatable objects.

"High as a kite, my boy." He answered.

_Oh dear._

"It wasn't the cocaine this time, was it?"

"No, no!" he protested shrilly. "Can't a man just be pleased with himself for once? No need for stimulants!"

_Well that's a change._

"And what is it that pleases you?"

"Helium!" he squeaked. "Marvelous stuff, care to try it?"

_He can't be serious._

"Is that what the balloons are for? Sucking helium? You know that kills brain cells, don't you?"

The smug expression on his face turned to horror as he frantically tried shoving away all the balloons that were close to him.

"Oh no! What have I done? My poor brain! Oh, the irony!"

I should have felt pity for the fellow, but the shrieking girlish tone to his voice was more amusing than my concern over his plight.

"Good night, Holmes." I said, over the din of his clutching his head and popping balloons.

_So much for getting a good night's rest._


	27. Balloons part two

**Alright, we all need to know what happened to Holmes after the balloon fiasco. It was just too traumatic not to pass up. ;)**

I was less concerned with Holmes's dramatics than I probably should have been and spent the night with a pillow over my head to block out the sound of exploding balloons.

I woke up to silence the next morning and made my way to the front room which bore the signs of a balloon massacre. The poor, deflated bodies were shriveled and lying on the floor with all the organization of a mine field.

The great detective himself was sitting huddled in his chair, his face drawn. Large black circles stood out from his white face. He was mumbling in a half asleep fashion and I quickly drew the conclusion that that was how he had spent his night. Stepping over the battlefield, I stepped closer to catch the phrases coming from his parched lips.

"The earth orbits the sun. Two plus two is four. My name is Sherlock Holmes. My favorite color is burgundy red. My address is 221 Baker Street. If lost, contact my brother Mycroft Holmes. Pall Mall Diogenes club…."

"Um, Holmes? What are you doing?"

The pale form in the chair gave a violent start and gripped my arm tightly. "Watson! Watson, thank goodness you're here! I have had a dreadful night!"

"I can see that. Would you like to start from the beginning?"

"Yes, yes. The beginning, a very good place to start." He was raving like a mad man. "I popped all the balloons. Those tricky devils. How was I supposed to know they were trying to kill me? But it wasn't good enough. They still had a head start on me. So how did I outsmart them? Well, I'll tell you! By repeating all the facts my brain possesses! If I do it long enough, it will rejuvenate new brain cells and I shall be right as rain once again!" He broke off into a fit of mad laughter.

Prying myself lose from his grip I took a step backward. "That's…great, Holmes. I'm going to go… step out for awhile… Perhaps go ask Mrs. Hudson where she keeps the brandy. If you need anything…."

I closed the door to finish my sentence and heard, "The earth orbits the sun!" cried at a fever pitch in answer.


	28. Pac Man

**I really…. Don't have anything to say.**

"Curse those wretched little things!"

I had just walked in the door and Holmes's greeting was far from welcoming. Placing my hat upon the rack, I said rather sarcastically. "And hello to you too."

"Oh, Watson! Thank goodness you're here!" He seemed oblivious to my comment and running over to greet me, grabbed my arm and started pulling me in the direction of his desk. "I'm so happy you're back, I need your help solving this deucedly wicked little scrape I've gotten myself into."

"Sure, Holmes. What's the problem?"

"That!" he pointed at a curious object. It was square, with some type of screen on it. Lights and music were coming from it in a place I could not detect.

"What is it?" I asked touching the top of, surprised to find it warm. "Is it alive?"

"I'm not sure…" Holmes seemed genuinely puzzled. "I got it from a man who called himself a doctor. He appeared quite suddenly right where you're standing in a gigantic blue box. But none of that matters!" he brushed my hand away as I tried to see just how dilated his pupils were. "The case is this, Watson, I have a problem to be solved and you are going to help me fix it!"

"I don't see how I can be any help-

"Oh just do it already! You have to move the little yellow dot around with these things called 'keys'. You're collecting the smaller dots for some reason I cannot deduce and the big white dots makes you stronger. The little amoebas try to eat you. I'm guessing they are carnivorous."

"Did the doctor in the blue box tell you all this?"

Holmes cursed violently before forcing me into the chair. "Never mind all that! Just play for me. I can't seem to beat the creatures."

I blinked at the screen. It seemed to blink back.

"Any time now." Holmes pressed. "Here, I'll help you." He pressed a 'key' and the game started to life. "Go, Watson! Quick! They're coming!"

I scrambled to operate the device and must have succeeded because Holmes was cheering gleefully in the background.

"Yes! Yes! Ha! I knew those little amoebas couldn't stand a chance. Remind me to take you out for a drink later, Watson. This calls for celebration!"

Two hours later, I had a splitting headache from staring at the screen for so long and from listening to Holmes's emphatic encouraging that had slowly died down to a hoarse cheer every level or so.

Who knew the great minded detective could be so easily entertained with a computer game?


	29. Magic Tricks

**I know absolutely nothing of magic trick but It's is Houdini's birthday after all so I thought I would throw something together. And does Watson's introduction remind you of that guy in A Knight's Tale? **

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are proud to announce that on this night and this night only, you have the joy, no, the privilege! Of seeing what no other audience has seen before. No other is as talented as this magician and you will all be amazed and astounded! Let us all give applause to the great, the brilliant, the fantastical of mind….Sherlock Holmes!"

I applauded with the rest of the Irregulars and joined Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson in the back of the room who were snickering at my overplayed announcement for tonight's simple performance. The Irregulars paid little attention to us though as the curtain Mrs. Hudson had fastened from one of her quilts and hung across the ceiling was parted to reveal the great detective Sherlock Holmes.

He was bowing and waving to the small crowd as if it had been the London Theater. Taking a final last bow, he suddenly pulled a bouquet out of his sleeve and graciously handed it to a blushing Mrs. Hudson.

Making hushing motions with his hands, he drew his captivated audience closer as he began to whisper. "Tonight, my dear audience, we have a special treat. A trick learned in faraway lands only to come and rest here at the humble abode of 221b."

Holmes began to shuffle a deck of cards he had pulled from out of his pocket. After he had set it to his liking, he called a member of the Irregulars up to pick a card and to show it to the audience.

The card was a three of spades and the audience all 'ohed' appreciatively.

"Now, using my deductive powers," Holmes said, pressing his fingers to his temples in an attempt to summon up the image in his brain, "I will deduce the card in your hand. The card you are holding, is an ace of spades, is it not?"

"No," the Irregular said in an offended tone.

"Five of hearts?

"Nope,"

"Nine of diamonds?"

"Wrong again, you sure you're a magician?" the Irregular asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Of course I am!" Holmes had broken out in a cold sweat. "My powers just don't like to be pressured like this! It is obviously a Jack of clubs."

By this time, the rest of the audience had begun to giggle.

"Try three of spades." The Irregular said sarcastically before sitting down and folding his arms with a stern expression.

"Of course, of course! Three of spades." Holmes panted. "I was just about to guess, I mean deduce that one next. It takes a while for my deductive methods to get working, you see, they don't like being called upon in such trivial matters such as this. I'm sure I could get it right the next time."

"Perhaps we should save that for next time." I said going to the front of the stage in attempt to calm the crowd which was beginning to grumble. "Mrs. Hudson made scones and I'm sure she will let you have one."

The great detective and his magic tricks were all forgotten in an instant as the rowdy crowd jumped to their feet and pounded down the stairs.

It wasn't until the room was empty that Holmes fell wearily into his chair with a sigh. "Let's not try that again." He said. "I greatly underestimated what it took to perform such paltry parlor tricks."

"I see what you mean." I said, pulling a card from my back pocket. "And by the way, was this the card you were looking for?"

I had to run downstairs and hide in the kitchen with the happily munching Irregulars to prevent Holmes from strangling me.

It was the last night the name, "Sherlock Holmes, great magician" was ever mentioned in the house.


End file.
